And no one does the horror fest better than the Yanks – apart from our family.

Our house will become a witch’s coven.

Everyone will be wearing masks, the girls will have devil horns, fangs, gashes across their faces, crooked teeth and knives sticking out of their heads.

And I will be taking my one chance of looking as thin as I’d like to be in a skeleton outfit.

The only slight fly in the ointment is that for some reason men just don’t know when to stop.

They always have to take fright night to the next level.

Last year, Mark thought it would be a good idea if he dressed as a zombie, with one eye gouged out and left a trail of fake blood and real innards (from the local butcher) trailing up the stairs along the landing and up the step ladder leading into our attic.

When my girls Maddie and Kiki came home with friends, they played hide and seek.

0 minutes into the game, I heard a crash and a roar that made the hairs on my neck stand up. This was followed by screaming.

All eight kids hurtled into the garden and hot on their tails, getting muck everywhere, was a zombie with blood pouring from his mouth.

Aloft he held a pig’s heart he’d just pulled out of his fake chest cavity. Don’t forget, he is a director.

I thrust a tray of severed sausage fingers into his hands and said, “Go lay the table, you’ve traumatised the kids”.

So, this year, we are having our own innocent family Halloween fun – and I will be sending Mark to the cinema to watch The Shining on his own.